A NotsoCinerella Story
by lordnitemare
Summary: A rather strange parody of Cinderella that was the product of too much chocolate and Sherlock fanvids. I can really only plead the fifth...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I am neither Steve Moffet or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and as such, claim no ownership of Sherlock Holmes (even if the Cumberbatch is gorgeous). This fic is the product of my twisted mind and rather strange sense of humour.

**A Not-so-Cinderella Story**

**Chapter 1  
**

This story begins, as most decent fairytales do, with a death. And yes, most fairytales do begin with a death, whether it be the death of a king, of a queen, or even of a peasant woman. Any fairystory which **doesn't** begin with a death is only pretending. The death was in actual fact the death of an ant, minding his own business, getting crushed by the careless feet of a passing traveler.

In this case, the death was a woman, not so remarkable in it's own right, but this woman's death was the first of a long list of catalysts without which, this story wouldn't even have begun. The woman had been pregnant, and was finally ready to bring the child into the world, but only after 9 months of morning sickness, cramps, bloating (making the woman go to her husband, weeping, "I have elephant feet," to which the husband replies "Yes, but very nice elephant feet," earning him 3 weeks of general hell), and the unholy cravings where the woman says she will die if she doesn't get a drink which looks like and has the general taste of tar.

Of course, at this point, the woman was giving birth, but unfortunately, without the modern comfort of an epidural, which, naturally, lead to the screaming, the general threats towards the father of grievous bodily harm if he ever even **thought** of going near her again, and the fainting which the father normally does, most often just after training the video camera at the point of exit, the resulting motion leading to a very interesting view of the nurse's...unmentionables...

The child that was born was wholly unremarkable, insofar that a newborn can be unremarkable. For the few minutes after the birth the woman was very glad that JUST a child had come out, unlike a queen or something in another kingdom who had given birth to not just a child, but a new-born goat and a wooden spoon as well (one has to wonder what the king or whatever thought when he saw a rather smelly barnyard animal and an ordinary kitchen utensil come out of the poor woman). At any rate, the child (who, like I said before), was quite unremarkable, was thusly dubbed 'John', and just like that, the woman dies.

Cut to a few years in the future (most stories involving the birth of a child do), and this child has grown up somewhat, from a squalling infant to an adorable (but still quite unremarkable) toddler, with hair just a shade away from brown and blonde, and large expressive tawny eyes.

The father of the child, who really doesn't factor into this part of the story at all really, apart from the fact that he IS the father, is mostly away, supposedly doing 'business', but which inevitably involves copious amounts of alcohol and a woman of questionable morals called 'Candy-Lee'. And the child, John of name, is schooled, and taught by tutors, and grows up into a teenager, who is still unremarkable.

It is at this moment in time that the father, for reasons known only to a rather expensive 50-year old bottle of_ Chivas Regal Royal Salute_, decides that it is at this time he should marry again. The woman he does marry, who goes by the unfortunate moniker of Sébastia, came with two children, both slightly older than John, with the names of Molly and Jim. The father, doesn't appear again in this story, for whatever reasons, however, I personally believe it is because the new bride found out about 'Candy-Lee' and had both her errant husband and the woman with questionable morals forcibly relocated to a quiet spot just outside of town, in a very nice neighbourhood with very quiet neighbours, and rather nice flowers.

So the child, John, grew up some more, with a woman who may or may not have been an evil stepmother. But how does a woman get this term? Is it because she isn't the child's natural mother? Or because she married a beloved father, who should have been pining the rest of his life for his true love? We have already established that John didn't know his true mother, and his father was more interested in 'Candy-Lee' than him, but does this new woman deserve such a term? I cannot say, most likely the woman in question did attempt to raise John as best she could, being now the mother of three petulant teenagers, and if she didn't care or love him in the whole-hearted way a mother would, or should, can you really blame her?

And as for his new step-siblings, who may or may not have been ugly, certainly Jim could not be called that, if only when viewing his physical visage, whereas Molly was quite plain and rather flighty, but they merely viewed John as they would a caged bird, fascinated that such a thing could exist, but uncaring of his eventual fate.

However, as anyone knows, a good fairytale needs a villain, so unfortunately, this woman and her children have been thrust into the roles of 'Evil Step-mother' and 'Ugly Step-siblings'. While our hero, John, still quite unremarkable, was forced to do all the household chores of cleaning up his step-mother and step-sibling's mess, in an attempt to keep the house from falling into a state akin to a hovel. And if John's hands became work-worn, and the soles of his feet became hard, and his face slightly haggard, is that any reason to call him a servant?

**A/N: **After seeing Sadyna's latest picky (of Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf…http:/ sadynax .livejournal .com/21771 .html (remove spaces), I got to thinking about fairy stories in general, and this story pretty much came into my head, wouldn't leave, and it grew and gained a life of it's own, and pretty much wrote itself in about 4 hours.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I am neither Steve Moffet or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and as such, claim no ownership of Sherlock Holmes (even if the Cumberbatch is gorgeous). This fic is the product of my twisted mind and rather strange sense of humour.

**Chapter 2**

Well, it's time to slow down a bit here, since we were heading forward at a great pace. John is still doing housework though. In terms of how much time has gone by, less than you think, but more than you expect. John is neither a blushing 16-year-old brat who, let's face it, most fairystories seem intent on telling us is the normal age for a life-long commitment, nor an old decrepit man. He is at an age when he has seen more than most in his position, learned all he can from the library of his house (and yes, the house is technically his), and done over 10,000 loads of washing, scrubbed over 20,000sq feet of floor in total and washed over 4,000 windows.

He may or may not have had a serious love relationship, for a man his age to be untouched is a bit unfeasible, and certainly there was a time a little while ago when he was enamoured of a nice young lady called Sarah, but they mutually decided that while they liked each other, it was not the sort of like that spawned epic romance novels, with Fabio on the cover.

Mind you, he didn't always do the housework. He was able to find a part-time job elsewhere, working in the local doctor's clinic, as a medic. Due to the fact that Molly decided she wanted to be in the medical industry (for some unknown reason she was fascinated with dead bodies and always wanted to know how they died), Sébastia allowed John to accompany her as a chaperone but he soon became interested in the medical world and gained a medic's degree. It was where he met Sarah, she was a nurse at the clinic, and it was a mutual interest in the welfare of the sick, who came in that sparked the interest in each other.

But like I said before, this story is not of those times, and it is a fairytale. So how to continue? I said before that there were catalysts to this story. The death of his birth mother was the first, and the marriage of his father to his step-mother was the second. This part is of the third.

In a neighbouring city, there was a king. And with a king there is naturally a 'queen' (whether it be female or male). This kingdom had a female. And with kings and queens there were normally princes and princesses (adopted as in the latter case of the queen definition).

This kingdom had two princes (thankfully none had been born with any extra accoutrements, unlike a prince or something in another kingdom who had been born with the sun at his feet and the moon above his head, meaning his long suffering mother had to have gestated two celestial objects as well as a child). There is a saying 'If only they'd use their powers for good…instead of evil…' which I believe aptly describes both prince's, for both were geniuses, and both used their genius to entertain themselves, as befitted their personalities.

The elder pretty much ruled the kingdom, even though his father was still alive, and was quite happy to take on the role of king. The younger didn't have as much responsibility, and preferred to spend his days irritating the castle staff and causing major renovating projects when one or more of his experiments demolished parts of said castle.

However, as it is the case with most princes, the time eventually came when the youngest prince had to marry. And there was a very long discussion, which involved 3 weeks of sulks, accompanied by an insidious odour that permeated the castle for about 2 weeks (the result of a midnight experiment binge involving the combinations of different gasses), 6 Ming Dynasty vases broken, a priceless tapestry sacrificed to an experiment involving the tensile strength of wet fabric when trying to lift a horse out of the moat, said horse being catapulted into the moat due to an experiment of the feasibility of using a catapult to hurl soldiers into an enemy compound, and 1 week of violin practice at 3 in the morning, right next to the kennels.

But the king, using unfair logic against his youngest, prevailed, and the younger prince was forced to resign himself to his fate. But how does a prince gain a bride? In normal circumstances, meeting by mutual friends and getting to know the other person via mail and phone is considered a fair way of doing things. However, this is a fairytale and nothing is ever so easy.

The queen made a suggestion over dinner one day, and since the king could think of no other option (the only other was turning the prince into a frog and letting him loose to find a princess. The youngest prince immediately vetoed the idea claiming instead of finding a princess, he'd spend all his days hopping about the palace, croaking at all hours of the night, jumping into every buxom duchess's dress, and sitting on his father's pillow after just getting out of a muddy puddle), the plans for a grand ball were made, much to both princes disgust. Another week of negotiations (in which the younger prince made the chef quit, destroyed his mother's prize azaleas, and caused the plumbing in the castle to run backwards), the prince acquiesced, but said he would not marry anyone he deemed boring.

So the king decided to allow anyone from the age of 15 to 60 to come, in the hopes that in the gathered party would be someone mildly amusing. When the invitations were delivered, they were sent out to not only the city and surrounds, but all towns in the kingdom (John, like I said before, was in a neighbouring city about 30 minutes via carriage away).

As in all fairystories involving a ball, princes and ugly step-siblings, as soon as Jim and Molly received the invitation, they immediately began ball preparations. Sébastia also prepared, being under the cut-off point of the age limit. And quite naturally, the house was put into total disarray, no matter how sensible one tries to be when invited to a grand gala event, everyone's personality eventually devolves into something that would make a bridezilla seem like the pope. And much to his disgust, John had to clean up after all this, which unfortunately, reduced the time he could spend at the clinic.

The days passed, and as the lead-up to first day of the ball came closer, even John was getting excited (in fairytales one always does, no matter how logical and sensible one is), about going. However, upon the very eve of the ball, John was called away to the clinic, for there was an accident involving a carriage (going to the ball, naturally) and a cabbage man's cart. No cabbages were hurt, but the driver of the carriage had broken his leg and John had to set it.

He got back to the house late, too late to catch his family leaving to go the ball, and so decided that tomorrow was as good a day than any to go and wasn't it better to have a nice dinner and read _The Royal Physician's Visit_ by Per Olov Enquist before heading to bed?

Alas, that was not the way fairytales go, so just as John settled down next to the fire, he was rudely interrupted by a persistent and rather irritated knocking at the kitchen door, before a strange man with a wand swept in.

"Hello," the man said, "I'm your fairy godfather."

**A/N:** Like I said earlier. This story kinda has a life of it's own. I still plead the fifth.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I am neither Steve Moffet or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and as such, claim no ownership of Sherlock Holmes (even if the Cumberbatch is gorgeous). This fic is the product of my twisted mind and rather strange sense of humour.

**Chapter 3**

As John sat in a carriage that smelt faintly like cabbage (there hadn't been any pumpkins around), he mused on just how he got into this position. It was all still a bit of a muddle, and he suspected his fairy godfather had something to do with that. The driver (a finch who just so happened to be sheltering within the sight range of his godfather), was whistling a jaunty tune, and the footman (who was the house cat, as he had eaten all the mice in the house) was eyeballing the driver with an unholy gleam in his eye.

Ah, you must be wondering why we are looking in on John in the carriage, well, as you may remember, when last we saw our erstwhile hero, fair of hair and John of name, he had been greeted by a man with questionable tastes in clothing, and what looked like glitter in his hair.

But how does one properly describe a fairy godmother (or godfather)? Oh wait, let me guess. The normal mental image is of a little old lady in a poofy, spangled dress, mostly pink, with little fairy wings on her back (fluttering madly in an attempt defy physics to keep her aloft), and a long thin stick with a pointy, glittery star on one end, which leaves trails of sparkles as it is waved around. It makes one wonder what the star is actually for. Certainly it would be a brilliant weapon against all types of unsavoury sorts.

Fairy godmothers/fathers are not a very prolific breed, for it takes a special type of person, who is very sure of themselves to be able to listen to the petty whining of a 16-year-old who has never had a real relationship (and the only reference they have is the ramblings of inane books like _'Twilight'_), and who think that going to a ball or whatever dressed in something that comes straight from _'The Labyrinth'_, will win them the attentions of a handsome Prince. Thankfully for us, John is neither 16, nor had he ever heard of _'Twilight'_.

Now how does one respond properly to such a greeting? John did the only thing he could do. He offered the fairy godfather a cup of tea in an automatic reflex when confronted with a man carrying a potentially dangerous weapon in his hands. The only other option was to scream in the godfather's face and race upstairs to hide beneath his bed. But that response is more the purview of the 15-16 year-old set. And as we have established, John is older than that, and being older, is more mature.

The fairy godfather had sat upon the stool opposite John, and spent a few minutes drinking the tea before telling John that he was not only John's godfather but quite a few others, whom he had just finished visiting and gotten ready for the ball. John was the last on his list, and was a bit of a relief as his previous clients were mostly idiot 16-year old girls (and one boy) who all wanted the sort of dress that involves over 300 yards of tulle, and enough sequins that would put Cher to shame.

John, being the pragmatic sort, told the fairy godfather, grey of hair and Lestrade of name, that it was very kind of him to come, but he was fairly sure that the ball wasn't for him. Also, tulle and sequins did nothing for his complexion. Alas, for our hero, this is a fairy story, as I have mentioned before, and to have the hero not attend a ball was simply not to be borne.

Within a half hour of his initial greeting, Lestrade had bespelled John's clothes, citing that no self-respecting man would be caught dead in clothes with setting plaster on them, and turned the afore mentioned cabbage (Lestrade had wanted a pumpkin but John had already turned the last one into a fine soup for his supper), the finch and the cat into their respective roles.

Much too soon John found himself alighting upon the steps of the castle, and heading up. He felt a lot better once he saw that there were others who were also as late as he, although it didn't leave him much time until the magic wore off, which was midnight. Lestrade bemoaned the fact that he could not change the basic rules and John had only 3 hours.

And so, John, fair of hair and unremarkable of face, told his name to the usher, and with supreme confidence, the automatic confidence that could only come when one has bespelled clothes, stepped out.

**A/N:** Oh, I am so sorry for not updating for 3 years. I was going to sooner, but I have had a writer's block due to a quite important plot device I intend to write in. However, as time wore on, I got more and more guilty for not updating, and before I knew it, 3 years had passed. However, with the third Sherlock season coming soon, I got a fresh wind of inspiration and FINALLY broke out of the writer's block. However, don't look for another quick update. I have a crime plot I want to write in, and I need to do a bit of research on which Sherlock story would be the best for this...


End file.
